


Houston, We Have a Problem

by digitalcatnip



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: A lot of fanon stuff in this one from way back when, M/M, Mentions of Hous/Hox, Not Canon Compliant, There's just enough plot that it's not PWP but also not a lot of plot, and Mentions of Wolf/Hox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 22:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalcatnip/pseuds/digitalcatnip
Summary: Hoxton pays Dallas a visit and idk they fuck or something.  I hate describing porn ok you know what's going on, let's not even try to skirt around this.





	Houston, We Have a Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Original additional comment: "This was supposed to be really short but then it’s 3am and I’m fucked (and so is Dallas.)"
> 
> Hey look, kinda explicit sex! Fantastic. Written I think as a prompt for an ask meme on Tumblr in 2014 or 2015. Leans heavily on generally accepted fanon at the time right after Hoxton's breakout missions. Basically everyone bones everyone.
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr @cataouatche!

* * *

 

 

                Dallas recognized that knock, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted more to groan in annoyance or skip over to the door and greet the person on the other side.  He was still deciding as he unlocked the door and opened it, revealing his unexpected and possibly unwanted guest.

                “Hey there, old man!” The thick accent was as unmistakable as the cocky smile that always seemed to be plastered across Hoxton’s face.

                Dallas winced.  “Hey Hoxton.”

                Hoxton stepped into the house without being invited, forcing Dallas to step aside or be pushed.  Dallas felt a prickle of annoyance at his spine.  Everywhere he went, he acted like he owned the place.

                Hoxton glance around Dallas’ meticulously kept living room.  “Hey, your good for nothing little brother around?” he asked.

                “No, he fucked off to Chicago again.  Something or other about pizza, and who knows when he’ll be back.”  Dallas made a face.  Houston was an impulsive person, and often disappeared for weeks without telling anyone where he went, leaving Dallas in charge of cleaning up the messes he left behind, both literally and figuratively.

                Hoxton shrugged.  “Oh well, you’ll do just fine too.”

                Dallas crossed his arms.  “Whoa buddy, say what?  I’m not gonna be your replacement booty call because Houston isn’t here.”

                Hoxton gave Dallas a wicked grin.  “That wasn’t my reason for coming here, but I can make it if you wanna.”

                “What do you want, Hoxton?” Dallas sighed, the question coming out more as a statement than a query.

                “I lent Houston a few albums to rip and he never gave them back, so I’m here to repossess them.”

                “That all?”

                Hoxton shrugged.  “If he happened to find himself tied to his bed as revenge, I wouldn’tve complained much.”

                Dallas waved off his friend, telling him to have fun dredging through the sty that was Houston’s bedroom.  He went into the kitchen, groaning inwardly at the mountain of dishes Houston had left for him to handle the night before.

                He could hear Hoxton rummaging about in the other room and swearing loudly when he apparently found the CDs he was looking for in less than stellar condition.  When he emerged, Hoxton was spewing venom in an accent that grew ever thicker.  Must’ve been some really important music.

                Dallas reached into his pocket and silently held out a cigarette to Hoxton.  They’d known one another long enough that many times words didn’t need to be said between them, they just knew.  Hoxton didn’t smoke terribly often, but he was always trying to mooch one off of Dallas when irritated or stressed.

                Hoxton took the cigarette and put it between his lips, flicking open a zippo lighter.

                “Ah, ah, no, go outside,” Dallas scolded.  “Wolf might let you ruin his walls but I won’t.”

                Hoxton glared at him, but obeyed.  He was still getting used to things again, and he often forgot that despite Dallas’ whatever attitude towards…well, everything, when they spent their pre and post heist nights at the safehouse, he kept a tight ship at home and was fully aware of the damage his habit could do to an interior.

 

                Dallas watched him from the window, saw him lean against the side of the house, looking out over the yard, watched the cool breeze blow his hair around his face.  It wasn’t growing out as fast as he’d like, Hoxton had said, and he couldn’t do anything with it but let it fly all over the bloody place and get in the way.  If it weren’t for Wolf’s begging, Dallas was convinced Hoxton would have just shaved it off again to not have to deal with it.

                 Something about Hoxton’s face made Dallas look down at his hands in the sink, and wonder why he wasn’t out there with him.

                Hoxton looked up at him as he walked out onto the patio and leaned up against the wall next to Hoxton, pulling out a cigarette for himself and lighting it.  “The dishes got boring.”

                Hoxton smiled.  “I’m glad to know I’m more interesting than chores.”

                The air was quiet for a moment, the two of them enjoying the weather and the birdsong.

                “Were those albums important or something?”  Dallas asked.

                Hoxton sighed smoke out of his nose.  “No, not really, honestly.  It's just...It’s taking a while to get back in the swing of things, you know?  It’s getting frustrating.  My aim’s shit and I’m sick of everyone treating me ‘special’, or worse, trying to get me to talk about shit I don’t wanna talk about.”  He looked pointedly at the door of the house, toward Houston’s room.

                “He doesn’t seem to grasp the concept of having secrets,” Dallas said.  “He learned the hard way about asking Wolf about his family, and you.  You honestly might just need to punch him.”

                Hoxton laughed dryly.  “You aren’t allowed to have a go at me when he comes home bloody, got it?”

                “Got it.”

                Hoxton finished his cigarette in silence, tossing the butt onto the patio and stepping out the ember.  Dallas was still working on his, and Hoxton felt it rude to leave before he was done, even though the air was now a bit uncomfortably cold.

                Dallas noticed Hoxton had moved closer to him, their elbows now just touching.

                “Cold?” he asked, and Hoxton nodded.

                “Could use a good warming up,” Hoxton said, leaning into Dallas.

                Dallas knew where this was going.  Hoxton was not a subtle man, and his penchant for promiscuity was not unknown among the crew, and probably even around DC itself.  Limiting oneself to a single partner is stunting, he said once with a belly full of moonshine.  You miss out on all sorts of things you never knew you liked.

                Dallas himself had fallen victim to those dark brown eyes himself on a couple occasions, though that was long before they were a proper crew, curled up in a tent somewhere in the mountains on a stake-out.   _I’m getting old,_  he thought. 

                Dallas looked down at Hoxton, arms crossed across his chest, hair just covering his eyes, pressing his shoulder against Dallas’ as platonically as he possibly could.

                The image of a young Hoxton, just in his mid-twenties, cocky and loud, leaning over a Dallas that didn’t have aches in his bones at night, pulling fistfuls of his hair, breath condensing into thick clouds around them.

                Dallas put an arm around Hoxton’s shoulder, pressing the younger man into his chest.  “I feel like I’ve been here before,” he mused.  “Though back then my hair wasn’t gray, and you were definitely prettier.”

                Hoxton looked up at him, smiling.  “You’re no spring bud yerself anymore, mate, don’t forget that.”  He prodded Dallas’ stomach.

                Dallas caught Hoxton’s hand, holding it still as he leaned down to kiss his friend.  The timing might have been awkward, and maybe this wasn’t the time, but Dallas had never been the best at romance.  He would rather push through the awkward than miss out.

                Dallas’ heart skipped a beat as he felt Hoxton lean into him in return.

                “Shame it’s bloody cold out here, isn’t it?” Hoxton said, finally, pushing his hands up the back of Dallas’ shirt.

                Dallas opened the door, still holding Hoxton against him.  “The fireplace should have warmed up by now.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Dallas was drifting, lost in the taste of his old friend’s mouth.  They were on the couch, and his hands were wandering aimlessly, running up Hoxton’s back, pushing his unruly hair back, gripping his thighs as he ground himself into Dallas’ lap.  Dallas felt overly hot, his pants uncomfortably tight, breath not coming as easily as he’d like.

                Hoxton broke what little ice was left by unbuttoning Dallas’ pants and shoving his hand in, causing Dallas to nearly choke.

                Dallas tried to return the favour, but found himself unable to remove Hoxton’s jeans, despite plenty of yanking.  “How on earth do you even get into these?” Dallas asked, as Hoxton laughed and called him old.

                “Let me handle that, grandpa,” Hoxton said through that same cocky grin, and slid off of Dallas’ lap onto the floor.

                Dallas felt a thousand feet in the air under the mercy of Hoxton’s mouth and hands, fingers caught up in that thick black hair, fist tightening and releasing in rhythm.  He felt physically pained when Hoxton lifted his head.

                Hoxton told him what he wanted, and Dallas directed him, silently cursing the necessity of breaking to acquire the items needed.  When Hoxton once again crawled onto the couch, Dallas exhaled the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.  His chest felt tight as Hoxton pulled Dallas down on top of him, guiding Dallas’ hands, kissing Dallas’ neck, biting at his ears.

                Dallas could have sworn he could hear the mountain wind blowing as he pushed into Hoxton, sworn he were ten years younger, sworn there were no lines around Hoxton’s eyes, no scars on his face.

                 _I don’t remember what you like,_  he thought, or maybe he said aloud?  Because Hoxton replied by rolling his hips up and setting the pace for him, hands on Dallas’ knees, breathing heavy.

                Dallas vaguely remembered their nights on the mountain being hard and heavy, and it seemed Hoxton hadn’t lost his taste for it.  His nails in Dallas’ shoulders was accompanied by his loud breathing, which quickly turning into gasping, then cries that rivaled the women in films Dallas had seen late at night.

                Dallas was growing short of breath, and unfortunate side effect of his nicotine addiction, and he felt himself waning in his ability to keep Hoxton entertained.  The younger man was growling at him now, attempting to push Dallas on, harder, faster.

                “Is that all you have in you, old man?  Fuck me like you mean it!”

                Dallas looked down at Hoxton and saw that glint in his eye, and was overwhelmed with lust and a healthy amount of offense at being called old.  He himself was the only person allowed to do that.  Dallas returned Hoxton’s growl, lifting up Hoxton’s hips to get a better angle, and giving the Brit what he’d asked for.  Hoxton groaned in approval.

Dallas was growing ever nearer to climax, but he was suddenly aware of the sound of his own breath in the air, a high-pitched wheeze that sounded dangerously fast and shallow.  He vaguely noticed Hoxton sitting up, tapping the side of Dallas’ face, asking him if he was okay.  He was not okay.

                Hoxton’s mind was in a panic as he watched Dallas struggle for air, hand on his chest.

                “Please tell me you’re not having a heart attack, man,” Hoxton begged, pulling on his pants again, however uncomfortable the action was at the moment.

                Dallas shook his head, gasping out a “no” before falling into a coughing fit.

                Hoxton threw a robe over Dallas’ shoulders and helped him to his feet, carefully walking him out to the truck.  Hoxton had opened the passenger side door and shoved Dallas in when he remembered he couldn’t drive.

                Colourful swears spilled from his mouth, cursing his laziness about obtaining a driving permit.  He didn’t even know how to shift gears, much less steer one of these metal monstrosities down a street.  And American cars were just so big – Dallas’ truck was huge in comparison to anything they had back in England.

                Dallas’ face was starting to turn red, and his eyes were looking glassy as Hoxton ripped his phone out of his pocket and dialed the only person that could both drive and admit Dallas to the hospital.

                He picked up after three rings.  “Y’ello.”

                “Houston, we have a problem,” Hoxton gasped into the phone.

                Houston groaned.  “Really, Hoxton, not even I would make that joke to me.”

                “No, you sop-headed prat, I mean we really have a problem.  Where the fuck are you?”

                Houston’s tone changed.  “I’m almost home from the airport, why?  What happened?”

                “Dallas is having some kind of asthma attack and I can’t drive his bloody automobile.”

                Hoxton heard the engine of Houston’s car rev up into another gear.  “Give me five.”

 

                Some hours later, Hoxton and Houston let Dallas back into his house with difficulty.  His breathing had regulated with help of some drugs, but the breaths were still raspy and shallow.  Hoxton carted Dallas off to bed, while Houston grabbed a root beer from the fridge and sat down on the couch.

                “So what exactly happened to him?” Houston asked, lifting the bottle to his lips.

                Hoxton sat down next to him, a wicked smile on his face.

                Houston’s brow wrinkled.  “What are you grinning about?”

                “You wanna know why your brother can’t breathe?”

                “Yes…” Houston said cautiously.  They hadn’t known one another very long, but it had been long enough to know that the look on Hoxton’s face never meant anything good.

                Hoxton leaned into Houston’s ear.  “I fucked him too hard.”

                Houston blanched.

                “Actually, right where you’re sitting.”

                Houston recoiled.

                Hoxton put his arm on Houston’s shoulder, pressing the other man down into the couch, not allowing him to get up.

                “So, about those CDs you borrowed…”


End file.
